


Demons don't care

by Voleste



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4905736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voleste/pseuds/Voleste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everything is orchestrated by Heaven or Hell. Sometimes, disasters simply happen. It can be tough to deal with that on your own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons don't care

**Author's Note:**

> Upon asking for a prompt for a GO drabble, my friend requested "A/C wing hugs." I don't really think this is what they had in mind. :D

It had been going on for hours. The people down there probably died pretty quickly, which was the only silver lining in the otherwise disastrous event. A barely visible silver lining, hidden by dark grey smoke so heavy they could’ve been mistaken for clouds.

It ejected ash, and stone, and fumes, for hour upon hour. It would’ve been a small miracle if anyone managed to escape. Maybe people had managed to escape. He didn’t know. All he knew that when he watched the scene from afar, atop of the hill he stood on, it felt there was no room for miracles that day. The day was filled with despair and disaster, and it wasn’t his kind of despair and disaster. Oh, he would talk about it, and think about it, but actually doing it was an entirely different matter. He could never bring himself to do it.

They had some good little restaurants and bathhouses, and the marketplace was a good way to waste your time.

No matter how much they expected that of him, he wasn’t going to destroy any of that.

The moment he noticed he wasn’t alone anymore, was the moment a sword hovered disturbingly close near his throat.

“This is your doing, isn’t it?” the sword wielder snarled.

He didn’t know where he mustered up the courage, but he managed not to take a step back, away from the sword. He shook his head. He didn’t want to talk.

“No, I suppose not,” the other sighed, lowering his weapon. “This kind of destruction is not how you usually work.”

He glanced sideways; the sword was still in his hand, almost blindingly white wings sprawled wide, ruffled but fierce. He looked away again.

“They had this great little place,” he eventually said. “It had the sweetest grapes I never found anywhere else. I’m going to miss it.”

There was not much left of the great city; it was already buried underneath a thick layer of ash and stones, and more ash continued to fall.

He made the mistake of looking at the angel again, who now wore an expression of disbelief, mixed with pity and grief. It alarmed him.

“So you do care,” the angel said softly. “Do you?”

He scoffed. “I don’t.” He wasn’t supposed to, at least.

The angel sobered up. “Of course you don’t. You couldn’t, even if you tried.”

He balled his hands to fists, feeling his nails digging into his skin and concentrated on that pain. It was better than having to concentrate on anything else right now.

For a small, fleeting moment the angel thought about reaching out to him, to a demon, but didn’t, and later he would wonder why he had felt the desire to do so. By then both were gone already, and it continued to rain ash on Pompeii.

 

Centuries went by and the angel was sure that this desire had been a one-time occurrence, even with the Arrangement in place. In fact, he had forgotten about Pompeii until he found the demon watching the ruins of Aleppo. The humans had dubbed it an earthquake. It had been the deadliest one so far.

And he stood there, again, and the angel was painfully reminded of Pompeii.

“It’s completely gone,” he said, as soon as the angel approached him. He was more talkative than the last time it happened, but he still wore that sullen look on his face.

“And dust they shall eat,” the angel idly commented.

That provoked a reaction. The demon moved with such sudden speed and agility it had happened before he knew it. His cheek flamed red.

“Don’t,” the demon said. He seemed just as shocked at what he had done as the angel. He didn't do violence. 

“Do you care?” the angel dared.

He had never seen the golden reptile eyes that fiery and wild. “I don’t.”

“No, you don’t,” the angel agreed. “No matter how much time you spend on Earth, you’ll still be a demon.”

“Shut up, Aziraphale,” the demon growled. “Just shut up.”

And once again, the angel Aziraphale wanted to reach out, but stopped in time to wonder what was wrong with him, and retreated.

 

The Arrangement didn’t cease to be; in fact, it was flourishing and while he didn’t know when they stopped being enemies and started becoming odd somewhat-but-not-really colleagues, it was rather nice. It was not the kind of company he would’ve chosen, but after spending time on Earth for such a long time, you wanted to confide in someone who had lived as long as you, and then you took the company available.

He enjoyed the company, even if Aziraphale was supposed to be the enemy. Aziraphale had told him about this passage in the Bible which said to love thy enemy. The demon just thought it was only natural they’d keep each other company, since there was no one else.

Whenever they talked it was mostly lighthearted and they didn’t touch on the subjects of Pompeii and Aleppo. He made sure to never bring it up.

 

Countless of little villages had been taken by the sea. Washed away as if it were nothing. The demon had there been first, again, and Aziraphale had joined him later, looking at the aftermath of a flood. Barely anything was left of it. Large parts of Flanders and Zeeland were gone, forever.

“Crowley,” the angel called softly out to him.

He just shrugged. “They had it coming,” he said, the chipper tone sounding forced and thin. “I never even came to this place. Who cares.”

They watched the sea, mad waves rolling towards them. “They all drowned.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale confirmed.

There were people watching them, and Aziraphale knew that. He shook out his wings nevertheless. These people needed hope right now. These people had lost much - they needed to believe there was still someone watching over them, even if it was an illusion. Even if the people believed it was the Lord who punished them.

Once again he wanted to reach out to Crowley, and he did. The demon jerked back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he exclaimed in surprise. Aziraphale looked just as startled as he did.

“I just thought - ”

“Mind your own business, angel,” Crowley said, glumly watching the sea. The angel left him there.

 

“What happened?” Aziraphale asked him, when they met each other in India, instead of England.

“A cyclone,” the demon answered. India had been fun, and new, and had all kinds of traditions and trinkets and food. India was big; there still were the traditions, and the trinkets, and the food. Nothing was lost, except for the harbour village and a couple ships surrounding it. So why was he still upset?

He was not, he firmly told himself. He could not. But no matter how many times he told himself, he didn’t believe himself. He never believed Aziraphale either when he said it.

He willed some strong, very strong wine in existence.

“Dear, this is hardly the time to go and celebrate,” said Aziraphale.

He didn’t even look up and uncorked the bottle. “I’m not.”

“This isn’t your side’s doing, then?”

The demon threw away the cork, carelessly, with more force than needed. “I don’t see why you feel the need to ask. You never asked before. This stuff happens. My side hasn’t got anything to do with it.”

Aziraphale thought about that, and thought about how he should choose his words more carefully. “It’s just that my side wouldn’t stoop this low. Your side, well, it’s the other side of the spectrum, isn’t it? It’s evil.”

The demon didn’t grace that with a reply. Instead he positioned himself so that his back was turned towards the destruction the cyclone had left behind. He didn’t need to see it anymore. He didn’t want to see it anymore.

And the angel couldn’t help but feel sorry for the damned Crowley, even if he was a demon. He reached out, his wing tentatively touching Crowley’s shoulder, sending him warmth and love as he would do with a human, even if he was convinced the demon probably wouldn’t notice any of that. Crowley let him this time.

 

He showed up on Aziraphale’s doorstep that day. After the whole incident with the Antichrist and the Apocalypse he showed up often, but there was something about his expression that made Aziraphale think. He would’ve been able to connect the dots if he hadn’t been so engrossed in the book he was currently reading.

“Oh. Oh dear, you look rather awful,” he commented, taking in Crowley’s appearance briefly, before returning to his book. “Be so kind to make us a cup of tea, hm? I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Crowley didn’t have the energy to glower at him, or say anything to him, so he simply did as he was told. If the angel had been paying attention, he would’ve found it unsettling.

Half an hour later, when they were both drinking their tea, Crowley leaning against the counters of the little kitchenette, it occurred to the angel.

“Nothing happened today, did it?” he asked.

Crowley shook his head.

“No natural disaster this time, then?”

“No.”

Aziraphale placed his cup carefully on the table he was sitting at and got up. He didn’t understand. “Why are you so bothered about them?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley muttered. “I wish I wasn’t.”

The angel narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re a demon. It makes no sense.”

“What?”

“You care. But you can’t care. But you do.”

Crowley sighed. “We’ve been over this, angel.”

Aziraphale made a decision, then. Even if he was a demon - he was a demon whom he had known for a six thousand years, which made him sort of a friend. A good friend. And deep down inside - he had known it for ages. He had tried to do it instinctively, way, way back.

And as he manifested his wings and embraced Crowley there and then, he realised it again. He had told him, once, but that was when he thought it was over. That was when he had said his goodbyes, make amends.

It couldn’t hurt to tell him once more.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Respectively, they meet in the following times and places;  
> \- The eruption of the Vesuvius and destruction of Pompeii in 79 AD  
> \- The 1138 Aleppo Earthquake, on 11 October 1138 (a city located in Syria)  
> \- The St.Felix's flood, on 5 november 1530 in the Habsburg Netherlands, affecting Flanders and Zeeland  
> \- The India Cyclone, on 25 november 1839, affecting Coringa and its surroundings


End file.
